My Old Toyota Corolla
by Nor Savvy
Summary: A young twenty-two year olds trip to Tashmore Lake has extended when her old Corolla breaks down. Who is she to come upon to help her but the mysterious writer Mort Rainey. -AUTHORS NOTICE-
1. The Car that Broke Down

Disclaimer: Secret Window does not belong to me... nor does Johnny Depp. It's on my wish list for impossible items.  
  
Summary: A young twenty-two year olds trip to Tashmore Lake has extended when her old Corolla breaks down. Who is she to come upon to help her but the mysterious writer Mort Rainey.  
  
My old Toyota Corolla  
  
Chapter One:  
  
I didn't want to admit it, but I had lost the battle. I was defeated by the old broken down Toyota Corolla that sat in a cleared dirt road surrounded by an overpopulation of trees. In denied hope to get my car started again, I gripped the top of my torn steering wheel and placed my free hand tightly against my keys. My eyes slammed shut into darkness, praying for what was a miracle never going to happen, before turning my keys hard to the right. I clumsily jolted upright as a small rumble escaped from the rusted hood, to my dismay that rumble ended abruptly.  
  
"Damn." I moaned profusely as I tore my keys from it's opening and threw them into my lap. In exasperation, I slid in my seat and dropped my head into a hand that leaned on the side of the door, while the other crumbled motionless to my sides. The cracked rearview mirror placed at the side of my car revealed to me my sad look. My slightly tangled dirty blonde hair cascaded into its shoulder length, while my unhappy green eyes traced the outline of my head before resting on a background figure. My mood slightly rejoiced at my luck. Maybe I wouldn't have to walk. I'm such a lazy ass.  
  
My head picked itself up from its tiresome position, while its support of a limb dragged itself downward and was ready to pull on the handle that would let me escape. I tugged on the latch, and easily the car door swung open, leaving me a clean getaway. I had managed to actually get out of my car without something breaking off as usual. Mentally I congratulated myself.  
  
Then the spawning of my journey took place. Lucky for me my attire was perfect for the short walk of my destination. Nike shoes, great for all occasions, lowride jeans, and a baby tee that was covered by a faux suede jacket.  
  
My target wasn't as far as I was making it out to be, but in all hopes one last sigh left my mouth before trudging up the small path way that lead another direction from where I was heading. Keeping my thoughts away from my bad luck was helping with the time. Call it daydreaming if you must, but it helps.  
  
Soon the distance from the large lakeside house as I had seen was growing smaller. Something I could notice right away was a fair amount, okay it was a lot of corn. A patch that was located right to the side of the house. Odd as it was, the homeowner must like corn or have his reasons as he did. Who was I to care; I just wanted a ride into the county. Tashmore Lake was it? My eyes studied the premise that I had stepped on to. A new looking Land Rover was parked in front, while a shovel and other tools where thrown to the ground.  
  
My shoes lightly ran up the few steps of the porch and I was nervously rocking back and forth in front of the screen door. I had never been good as a social person. I fisted my slightly shaking hand into a ball and raised it a few inches from the chipping door. I bit my lower lip as I tapped softly against the wood, before making the raps harder so that they could be heard. I shifted my weight impatiently, beginning to wonder if whoever lived here was home. Once again, my luck had gone completely, and in shame I turned on my heel ready to leave.  
  
"May I help you?" A questioning husky voice said. My eyes widened in embarrassment. The feeling I had was that I wanted to run and make myself pay for what my car had done to me, but instead I spun around with a fake smile plastered on my face.  
  
His features were that of someone who had woken from a never ending sleep. His blonde brown hair was in bed head world, a brush hadn't been evident in this case, while his face had faint markings that he was lying on something for far too long. His eyes were deep brown, glasses also apparent, with his ratted colorful robe and pajama pants to conclude this fashion no-no. Early thirties, take or give a few years. He studied my appearance as well, and I still had that ridiculous look on my face.  
  
"Yes, I was on my way into Tashmore Lake." He raised his eyebrows, still confused at who I was or why I came on his doorstep. I continued, "And my old Toyota broke down down a ways, and I was possibly wondering if I could use a phone to call a tow truck to pick me and my car up."  
  
It was his turn to sigh. Straining his look I thought my mission was in vain. To my surprise the handsome stranger swung the screen door open and held it, waiting for my entry. The now screaming lectures from my mother entered my head, 'Don't go into a strangers house!' They repeated over and over again. At twenty-two years old I was still debating plans, A : To take her advice and get out of this place, or B : Ignore the thoughts in my head and call someone, and get it over with. I chose plan B.  
  
Was it a mistake?  
  
More Mort on the way. I just wanted to get this out, see what happens. ^^ Please Read and Review, I'd appreciate feedback. Chapter Two is on it's way! (Morts POV next) 


	2. Do the Dew

My Old Toyota Corolla  
  
Chapter Two:  
  
My name is Mort Rainey. A disturbed writer extraordinaire who sits on his ass all day thinking of crap to put in a book that people go out and waste their money on. It's a great outlook on things if you ask me, what else is better to do as to wasting time? Of course sleeping and eating corn were among my routines, both I turned out to be exceptionally great in doing. All though most of my time is spent on the couch, at this moment I thought it was a perfect time to answer the goddamn door that has been knocked on for who knows how long.  
  
There in my thoughts I laid, swearing to myself that my life couldn't get any worse. Then it was time to get the door. I craned my neck to try and catch a glimpse of who was disturbing my ridiculous thoughts, and saw a girl standing there rather impatiently. My hand swung across my body, tapping the table in slight patterns, in some hopes to reach my glasses. Success! Flicking them open, I tried placing them on, and after a few times I managed to do just that thing. It's the tiredness remember? I threw my legs over to the side of my old couch, and stood up woozily. Then made my way to that god-forsaken door, not quickly might I add.  
  
"May I help you?" I asked through the screen. I was telling myself that if this was a door-to-door salesperson hoping to sell me some useless item of some sort, I was ready to slam the front door in her face. But that wasn't what this stranger had come to my home to do.  
  
"Yes, I was on my way to Tashmore Lake," My eyebrows raised automatically. Really now? I hope that you have a nice time, have you come to sell me a pine cone? Good for me she couldn't hear my sarcasm.  
  
"And my old Toyota broke down down a ways, and I was possibly wondering if I could use a phone to call a tow truck to pick me and my car up." Defiantly not the answer I was thinking of to why someone would come up here. My hand raised to my head and rubbed my temple, while the other busily unlatched the lock to the door. It slowly creaked open. She stood there hesitantly as if debating to herself whether or not to take the invitation. Second thoughts obviously weren't on safety, who knows? I might just be a crazy killer who eats corn all day. Smirking to myself, I moved out of the way so that she could enter my humble abode.  
  
She stared around the place, I was sure she wasn't forgetting the mess that was everywhere into her picture. What can I say, I haven't had a housekeeper in quite some time. Papers were thrown crumpled on the wood floors, some mashed to the side wall of the stairs, it was sad how many trees had to die for my sake of horrible writing, topping it all off were the crushed soda cans and Dorito chip bags. In summary it looked like a set off of an Ed Wood movie.  
  
"Phones over here." I said more clearly in an awake state. Motioning her to where the phone sat on the covered table next to the couch. I walked over to the cord that addressed the floor and picked it up, quickly pulling on it to find the end. After jabbing it into the phone line, I turned around into the kitchen.  
  
"You want anything to drink?" I yelled back, as I used my robe worn arm to push aside the used corn shucks, making space available for the future. Seconds passed, and I was sure that another presidential debate has entered her head.  
  
"Sure, That'd be great." Came her soft reply. I tsk'd her in a shameful manner from behind the wall. My foot lifted itself from the ground and slipped underneath the refrigerator door, with an ounce of strength I had done a good deed in getting my refrigerator door open. Claps for Mort!  
  
The contents inside weren't in a great selection. "Hmm, Mort, what should you and your guest have? Seeing as how there isn't a great variety I think we'll have to settle on Mountain Dews." I reached inside and pulled the cold beverages out, then pushed lightly against the fridges door that shut afterwards.  
  
My body stood in the doorway looking at the girl whose name I had not heard. Her figure sat slumped over, while her face hovered close to the phone in her hand. I chuckled in my throat, did she die somehow when I wasn't looking?  
  
"Need help?" I slowly glided over to the side of the couch and held out my sleeve covered hand. Her blonde head nodded as she shifted around, dropping the phone in her lap to grasp the cold can.  
  
"Thank you Mister..." She faltered. I guess she didn't know who I was as well.  
  
"Rainey, Mort Rainey. And you would be?" The beverage lifted to her mouth and seemed to rest on her lower lip before raising it upward for a refreshing slide of taste down her throat. As a response to the drink, her tongue slipped out and in one quick swipe, brushed over her lips.  
  
"Parker Abbensail." The name triggered in my thoughts, possibly a use for a character in an upcoming story, of course the last name would change. But my eyes now were fixated on her appearance. She looked to be someone of a casual state. Her dirty blonde hair was in slight tangles, with every limb in her body striking the pose of a slouch on my rumpled couch. I stirred my own can, soon starting to watch the liquid inside dancing in fizzes, sometimes managing to slosh over the top if I wrangled it to hard.  
  
During the next quiet minutes I spent my time on emptying my soda as quickly as possible. Often being alone in a house for quite some time, you need some fun, so there I was racing myself for no apparent reason. My arm flew up in an instant to wipe away the loose drips of soda on my chin.  
  
"About that Towtruck?" I asked, now fiddling with the metal tab that broke off in a few twists back and forth.  
  
"Oh, right." Sheepishly she looked at the phone sitting on her. "I have no clue to what number I should call for my situation...you know me being a newcomer and all?"  
  
I nodded absentmindedly, while slowly getting up from my chair, heading to the stairs that lead to my open office. "Let me go see if I have a phone book." Her eyes narrowed, following me with every step I took up those messy steps. I was beginning to wonder if she actually thought I was going to come back down there with a weapon of some kind. Heck let's throw a shovel into Morts hands, have him run back down with a ridiculous hat thrown on his head and scare the bejezzus out of the now known Parker. I chuckled at the ridiculous thought, also rummaging through my desk files and drawers. Nothing had reached my mind about a phone book. Did the post office even mail those to my house any more? I scratched my bed headed hair. "Shit."  
  
"Parker?" I yelled back down to her, while leaning over my desk which was filled with papers and a laptop computer continuously flashing a small line that showed I was ready to type something.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Um, I don't know how to say this but I've seemed to misplace my phone book. Wither that or those bastard mailmans refuse to put one in my mailbox."  
  
"Oh." I could hear her disappointment.  
  
"How about I give you a ride?"  
  
I could swear she went rigid in her seat. Now where's that damn shovel?  
  
Thank you all so much! I love you all! This is my first S.W. fic, and all of the helpful comments that are made strive me to get the next chapter out quicker than before! Thank you Rebecca for telling me about his act being cleaned up. ^^; I overlooked that when my fingers started pounding senseless on the keyboard. I hope it doesn't ruin the story. :D Read and Review! *hands out Johnny Depp clones * 


	3. Uncomfortable

My Old Toyota Corolla  
  
Chapter Three:  
  
(Parkers POV)  
  
I couldn't believe what I was doing. A second ago I was in school with my mothers teachings from my childhood, and now I was fastening my seatbelt and gripping the edges of the car seat waiting to pull out into my doom. My eyes seared themselves together as the engine suddenly erupted, only opening a tad bit afterward to see Rainey looking at me with amusement. My cheeks flushed. I was embarrassed to tell you the truth, me acting so scared over a silly drive like this.  
  
He swerved the car around so we were now facing the entrance to his abode, only in the opposite direction. I was still fidgeting slightly, which was calming my nerves for the first feet we traveled or so, and then it was back to me and my sweaty hands. I would like to say I enjoyed every moment I had with the famous writer, but that would be lying.  
  
It didn't take very long (certainly shorter then the time my walk took) before we were head on with my trashed car sitting on the side of the rode. With no one behind it, banging the crap out of it, it added the sense of a junk yard when we drove by. Why did I drive that thing for so long? God, I didn't realize how much that car had embarrassed me over our outings together.  
  
"So that's the infamous Corolla that had awoken me from my nap?" Came the remark of Rainey who only took a glance at the deformed sight. I nodded my head turning around to watch the distance between us grow with every second.  
  
"I wish I would have gotten another car." I blurted out.  
  
"Yeah, I had a car that I had to push out off of a cliff. Let me say that it wasn't fun watching your transportation cascade into the depths of water." He chuckled a bit.  
  
"It must have not worked very well?"  
  
"No, it just didn't suit my needs and I thought it would be interesting to shove such a thing and see what kind of wave it would make." His voice had faltered only a bit, but I made no notion of why. I assumed he probably missed his ride, and shared special drives with it. Sad how people love their cars so dearly.  
  
"This has comfortable seats at least." I bounced a few times to catch my point across.  
  
"Yeah, these are much better then before." He did his own small jump.  
  
So it was then our conversation had shifted into that of cars and other mechanics. I would talk about my combusting Corolla, and he would talk about how he had had those same problems with other cars he had when he was younger than I was. We must have thought of nothing better to talk about. Kind of bland when you're in the car with someone you don't know.  
  
The Tashmore Lake sign was above our heads when we finally pulled into town after our short drive. There were a few cars parked on the sides, with a small population of people crowded out and about the streets and shops. I, having never been here before, was taking in the sights of my new surroundings. Unsuspectingly, Mort was pulling us into a diner, which I didn't know we were doing until the car was parked.  
  
"I'm starving, how about you?"  
  
Soon we were inside the place. It was a quaint shop, which sold food and drugs inside, as well as the lunch, breakfast, and dinner. A bar was lined up to the right where two customers were already attending their meals, with a waitress and store clerk behind it jousting a piece of gum in her mouth. A boy, not much younger than myself was backed into the wall looking quite oddly at us.  
  
I walked over and sat down on one of the stools, motioning for Rainey to sit down as well. He too, was seated, looking fairly annoyed. I leaned back to catch a glimpse of the early customers beckoning the waitress/ work lady to have their lunches made to go. My brow furrowed, as I watched the waitress turn her back towards us still giving us the eye as if we were a disease. I shrugged it off, claiming to myself that they must not see out of towners often.  
  
I twirled my pointer finger around in a motion on the hard counter, occupying myself and not bothering to see who entered. My ears picked up the sound of the small bell that hung above the door frame, hearing it ring constantly for a few seconds. I also heard the sounds of someone entering and stopping their stride almost as soon as they had entered.  
  
"Mort Rainey, I thought we agreed to no longer come into town. It makes everyone uncomfortable."  
  
Thanks everyone for your great reviews! :D  
  
Let's take a vote, who's your favorite Johnny? 


	4. And you would be?

My Old Toyota Corolla  
  
Chapter Four:  
  
(Mort's POV)  
  
When a celebrity walks into a random place they are immediately bombarded with a swarm of cameras and fans trailing their every moves. In my case, I felt like a celebrity minus all of the glamour, leaving me with a Sheriff breathing down my back. I sunk myself into my seat with my head buried in my hands.  
  
Months ago Dave Newsome looked me in the eyes and strongly forbid me to come down into town anymore. With his stern face he described how it made the citizens feel, uncomfortable was the word. When this happened I didn't know what he was talking about, and to this single second I still don't think I understand his meaning but I kept my word and hardly made any appearances...until today. Now I was sitting here along side someone I hardly knew only to eat but I guess people can't do that anymore without having a bag over their heads. I should have done that. Stupid me.  
  
"Listen Dave." I mumbled into my long sleeves before peeking my entire head out from its burrow. "I haven't shown up in a while and you know that."  
  
He nodded slowly. His old face was scrunched making slight wrinkles form at the top of his brow, making him look older than he already was. He puckered his mouth and folded his arms across his chest. "Well Mort, I'm sorry but I can' let someone who's under suspicion of murder come around here. I know you might be innocent but to us it's highly unlikely."  
  
By now my irritation was throbbing against my head, pounding to let it come out, but I strongly held down. I wanted this to be solved quickly and calmly.  
  
"Who's that?" The Sheriffs head tilted to his meaning of the girl besides me. Parker! I had completely forgotten about her with these other things entering my mind. I was now wondering what she thought about me after he had carelessly blurted out my under suspicion. Don't get me wrong, I haven't been trying to woo Parker, but she's the first person who I've been able to interact with for quite some time. Being alone and forbidden to be social makes you lonely, I especially experienced that after my divorce with Amy.  
  
"I'm Parker, sir." She piped up behind me. "I'm visiting."  
  
"Is Mr. Rainey a relative?"  
  
"My car had broken down, and Mort volunteered to drive me into town. But no, we're not related."  
  
"Parker, why don't I help you call someone and we can see what the problem is with your car." Dave stepped back and pushed the door open with his hand. Only until a minute or two did Parker understand that he was indeed serious with her coming with him. The girl started to mumble incoherently as she exasperatedly stepped off of her seat and walked over to where her elder was standing. Then they took their leave without further adieu.  
  
"Mister Rainey, I would appreciate it if you ordered carry out."  
  
I bulged my cheeks out while I stared at my hamburger without the pickles. I was wondering if they forgot them on purpose. The air that was held inside my mouth escaped as I threw a side of the burger inside and tore off a small piece. My jaw mashed constantly against the meat, only pausing to taste the flavor that the food held, before I spat it unto its wrapping. I couldn't indulge this without knowing that my life was becoming hell.  
  
I rocked myself in my cushioned chair back and forth while my feet rested on the edge of my desk. I tossed my meal aside and continued to try and bring up word processor. Soon enough the blank screen appeared and left me with a flashing cursor.  
  
For any normal day when my life was good I would have some sort of story concocted in my brain and I would not sleep until I had a decent chapter or two. Now, since my life was heading in another direction I would have created nothing and would fall asleep trying to think of a story line worth writing out.  
  
"Where is my creativity when I need it?" I blurted out.  
  
Just as that was said the phone rang from downstairs. My eyes glared at the green telephone and my mind didn't even occur to react and run down to frantically grab at the receiver. It finally stopped after forever.  
  
You all roc my sox! For reading you get my hugs, and for reviewing you get some clone kisses from Johnny. :D  
  
/Nor/Savvy/ Previously StolenOranges 


	5. The Scrawl on the Wall

My old Toyota Corolla

Chapter Five:

(Parkers POV)

"This sucks major monkey butt." I mumbled whilst dropping my navy duffle bag on my foot. My foot wasn't going to be a happy camper, nor was my body by the look of that bed down yonder. That sheriff was defiantly going to get it, who does he think he is leaving me in a crappy motel like this? "God help me."

The room was fairly large, but hadn't kept it's upkeep in sometime as it had appeared infront of my eyes. Didn't they know Parker has high expectations for hotels? I really need to go celebrity. Clean room with rose petals on my bed please! Chop chop! But no, I get the room with the ticking ceiling fan, stained carpet, and rickety mattress. How do I know it's rickety? I tried it out, The Parker Test is every motels nightmare.

Already immediately, I had started to rummage around the desk compartment and come upon… an unholy old issue of the phonebook! I felt quite accomplished while I sat on the bed with the book in my lap, phone in my hand, and the name of Mort my head. My finger traced down the list quickly before jabbing itself at MORTON RAINEY. My voice faintly recalled the number as I flew my dialing skills into work.

And damn, I must say that that man really needs to learn how to pick up a phone. I hadn't called once like normal and give up but called four times in a row with no one to answer on the other side. With a heap of sighs I slammed myself down on the cheap mattress and let a long sleep overcome the form of a very unhappy attendant.

(Third Person POV)

With his feet propped up against the table and his figure sliding slowly from the back of the wooden chair it looked as if the motel owner was enjoying the sleep of a lifetime, before a girl blasted through the door of his office, screaming at nearly 3:00 in the morning.

"S-Shooter!" She yelled trembling slightly, "Shooter! I-I wake up t-to f-f-find the word scrawled I-into th-the wall!"

"The wall?" He inquired with an eyebrow lifted.

"Yes the wall!" She had spoken loudly and lost her frail speech. "Parker Abbensail." Her soft voiced answered his question, even though it wasn't asked. His eyes zoomed down the paper that was vertical from his view. There, Parker Abbensail, room 8. (A/n We'll call this guy Oswald the Motel Owner.) Oswald cracked his neck and sighed before picking himself from his spot and step over to where the blonde was standing, quite impatiently, before she grabbed his arm and started dragging him out the door.

The room was in the corner of the motels structure and he undoubtedly remembered another event occurring here… what was it that happened? Oh yes! Room number 8 was were the author Morton Rainey had crashed in on his ex-wifes parade. Oswald had arrived just in time, right after he called the police, to see Rainey pull out a gun and aim it at the two people in bed. Oswald jerked from his reminiscing as Parker shoved him inside the room.

It wasn't in the best of shape, yet Oswald still hadn't spotted what the girl Parker was screaming about. Parker pushed him once more and turned him around forcefully, so he could stare at the words SHOOTER etched deeply into the wall. It was very noticeable and Oswald knew he would be paying extra to have the damage repaired.

"Is this some sort of joke?" Oswald boomed loudly, causing the girl to furrow her brows in anger.

"A joke?" Parkers voice grew in volume. "A joke?! Why would I want to scare the shit out of myself! Do you actually think I came here to plan out my revenge on your crappy accommodations? Nonetheless think of the most silliest name to scribble on a wall? Shoot--"

"Alright ma'am! Just lemme call the police for cripes sake!" Oswald walked over to the bedside table and picked up the receiver and added quietly, "For a second time…"


End file.
